


Hello, darling

by whiskeyandspite



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, Gifts, Longing, M/M, mentions of lovely kinky things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 13:02:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: “I have work to do, Eames.”“All work and no play -”“You already claim I have no imagination, how much lower could I sink to dullness?”“I’ve managed to teach you a thing or two since the inception job, darling. You’re much more creative than you give yourself credit.”Arthur goes out on a job, and Eames endlessly distracts him.





	Hello, darling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aquielle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquielle/gifts).



> To K, for always asking for the right stuff at the right time. You _get_ me.
> 
> So, because I found AO3 after my Inception phase wore off somewhat it's hard to believe that this is, in fact, my absolute ride-or-die pairing and my to-the-end-of-the-line fandom. I LOVE them. I have missed them so. Hopefully more of these two later <3

“Hello, darling.”

The voice, even through telephone distortion, felt like silk against Arthur’s skin, and he frowned.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve been aching for your positivity, Arthur,” came the smug reply. “Without you I’m a wet mop on the floor of my own ambition.”

“Oh, sod off.”

“How’s the flight?”

Arthur glanced to his left, took in the cloudscape beyond that seemed to grow into cities with every passing moment. He blinked.

“Uneventful.”

“Pity.”

Arthur snorted. He and Eames had said their farewells - in the proper, British, stiff-upper-lip way they always did in public - not four hours ago. If he were honest, he was surprised Eames had held off for four whole hours before pestering him.

He was clingy when he was without work.

“Don’t tell me you’ve planned an event.”

“Oh, we’re far past planning, Arthur, we’ve long been in spontaneous territory.”

“I don’t like your brand of spontaneity, Eames.”

“You do,” Eames insisted, his laugh lowering his voice an octave. “Awful thing.”

The words brought to mind early mornings, warm cotton sheets, dust motes in the pale sunlight that managed to break through the curtains. Hot hands, hot breath, hard cocks, and sweat.

Arthur licked his lips, as though the subtle taste of Eames’ skin would still be there.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Don’t be like that.”

_I love you._

“Goodbye, Mr. Eames.”

_I love you too._

“Prat.”

\--

“Hello, darling.”

Arthur didn’t have to ask why he was calling. His fingers continued to carefully work open the FedEX envelope that had been delivered not five minutes before. He peeked at the contents before tipping them, with a sigh, onto the bed.

“How do you even know where I am?” Arthur asked, tossing the empty envelope back towards the door where he would remember to throw it out.

“You wound me.”

Arthur snorted, pressing the bluetooth headset into his ear a little deeper before reaching to take up the gloves Eames had sent him. Elegant dark brown leather, stitches from the fingertips to the wrist creating a ribbing effect that was very pleasing to the eye. He pressed them to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes.

His mind could - and did - easily weave the subtle hints of Eames’ cologne in among the smell of leather. He imagined how quickly the gloves would pick up heat; his own and the warmth of Eames’ cheek against his fingertips. He turned his face against the leather before sighing and flicking one to start to put it on.

“I packed gloves, you know.”

“Mmm,” it was the sound Eames made when he was stretching, a deliberately lovely thing that tensed his voice before relaxing his entire being. “No, you’ll find you haven’t. Or, I suppose, more accurately, you _had_ packed them, and then I deliberately _un_ packed them for you.”

Arthur shook his head, flexing his fingers in the gloves, admiring the way the leather clung to him like a second skin.

“They don’t fit you.”

“Oh, they needn’t,” Eames confirmed, groaning quietly as he cracked the vertebrae in his neck. “Just something to bury my nose in and press between my teeth as I wank.”

This time Arthur groaned, a sound that he would have loved to play off as annoyed. They both knew it wasn’t.

“Should I send you something?”

“You already have.” Arthur smiled, knowing full well what Eames meant. He had been three days on the job. He could only imagine how bored Eames was back home.

“Something more personal.”

“I have work to do, Eames.”

“All work and no play -”

“You already claim I have no imagination, how much lower could I sink to dullness?”

“I’ve managed to teach you a thing or two since the inception job, darling. You’re much more creative than you give yourself credit.”

“I’m going to go.”

“Be good to those gloves.”

_I miss you._

“Jerk.”

_I miss you, too._

\--

“Hello, darling.”

“Eames. This is not a good time.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Arthur bit his lip hard, groaning in frustration. “Yes. Always. Because I’m always busy, Eames.”

But he didn’t hang up. Eames didn’t either. They were quiet for a few moments, just listening to each other’s breaths across the phone line.

“Did you want something?” Arthur asked pointedly after a while.

“I was just thinking about that time we spent a week in Cairo,” Eames said. “In that absolute dump of a place, do you remember?”

Arthur remembered. They’d spent most of the week inside because it had been monsoon season, thankful that the torrential rain helped to stifle their moans and whimpers of pleasure. He’d walked funny for three days when they got home.

“Don’t recall.”

“No? That’s the week I learned you’re an absolute slut for nipple play.”

Arthur’s entire body responded to the words, his vision going almost cloudy for a minute as though he were staring through rain-soaked glass to the city beyond again, Eames behind him sucking marks into his skin. He couldn’t keep his voice steady enough to respond, so he didn’t. Eames continued for him.

“And that you’d never been rimmed before.”

Arthur could hear the timbre of Eames’ voice drop again, to that low, purring thing that whispered filthy words and promises into Arthur’s ear as he fucked him.

God, he missed him them.

He’d been on the job for eight days.

“Stick in the mud,” Arthur whispered after a moment, smiling when Eames’ laugh vibrated against the handset.

“That you were, darling. Certainly no longer.”

Arthur pressed fingers into his eyes until he saw stars and let out what he hoped sounded like an impatient breath.

“Was that it?” He asked. Eames hummed.

“Just wanted to know if you remembered,” he said, playing along. “I suppose I better leave you to your work.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

_I want you._

“Work hard.”

_I want you, too._

When the call dropped, Arthur nearly threw his phone off the bed in his hurry to wrap his hand around his cock again. He hadn’t been thinking of Cairo, when Eames had called. He had instead been thinking of how much he loved waking Eames up by sucking his cock deep into his mouth early in the morning.

Now the two blended together, filling Arthur’s mind with the smell of rain and dust and semen, the sounds of rushing water and breathless pleas. He whimpered Eames’ name into the cool air of his hotel room and came with a shudder.

This job couldn’t be over soon enough.

\--

“Hello, darling.”

“I’m just going to the gate.”

“Actually, your flight’s been cancelled. I’ve booked you something else.”

Arthur didn’t even bother to hide his amusement as he slowed his hurrying steps and strolled through the airport instead.

“I was flying Saito’s. It’s never cancelled.”

“Never say never, Arthur.”

Three weeks apart and it had felt like forever. Despite how long they had avoided this entire mess in the first place. Despite how often they worked apart, now. Despite anything Arthur would tell himself, he was better with Eames. He needed him. He enjoyed him.

“So where am I going?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of the wide windows that gave passengers a lovely view of taxiing planes and the currently empty runway beyond. His heavy coat hung over one arm, his laptop bag pressed against the opposite hip.

“You can stay where you are for now, there’s no rush.” Eames sounded entirely too pleased with himself, and it filled Arthur with welcome warmth. He was infuriatingly clever, impossible, stubborn, _irritating_ … and Arthur had never loved anyone so much.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked, turning his head just enough to keep the crowd behind him in his periphery.

“I’m afraid the security cameras only zoom in so far, but I’m making do.”

Arthur shook his head, turning on his heel to face the expanse of the airport instead. Practiced eyes quickly found the nearest security camera and with a deliberate saunter, Arthur made his way nearer to it. He stopped close enough that he had to raise his chin to look up and smiled, phone still pressed to his ear.

“Very accommodating of you, Arthur, much obliged.”

“It’s a federal offence to hack the airport.”

“That’s very good to know, darling, thank you. I’ll be sure to remember if I’m ever stalking you in America, not Montreal.”

“It’s illegal in Montreal too.”

“Is it?”

Arthur’s grin narrowed his eyes and he made a show of turning away from the camera and walking away again. He heard Eames’ laugh through the phone and let it fill him with the pleasant promise of _soon_. He would be home soon. He would be able to cling to Eames’ horrible paisley shirts soon. He would be able to kiss him soon.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Eames asked him.

“Where should I be going? My flight’s been cancelled.”

“It has. Unfortunate, that.”

“Rather. I’d hoped to be home this evening.”

“Why, is there something at home worth getting to?”

“A shower with proper water pressure,” Arthur replied, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and turning to follow the flow of people out into the corridor lined with restaurants and bars. He wasn’t hungry. He just hated standing still.

“A tempting notion, certainly.”

“I’ll give you a tempting notion,” Arthur muttered, catching his little finger between his teeth as he continued walking, eyes still scanning for Eames despite being almost certain that he wasn’t actually in Canada; he could hack a closed circuit system from the couch in his underwear.

“Arthur, you’ve been a tempting bloody notion since our first job together and you know it,” Eames laughed. Arthur was sure he was flicking through feeds as Arthur moved from the periphery of one camera into the next. “And I’ve been soft for you since.”

“Arguable.”

“I’ve been hard for you more,” Eames ceded, and Arthur could hear the grin in his voice. He stopped in another atrium and sought for the camera there, staring into it as he shrugged, the arm with his coat out as though to ask _what now?_

“First class lounge,” Eames said. Arthur straightened his shoulders and continued on his way.

He didn’t have to pretend that there wasn’t a thrill in this, even now. Even years after they had finally fallen to their mutual desires and rutted like teenagers against a filthy wall behind a bar after their first job. Even years after the inception that had guaranteed them unlimited work and a constant sponsor. 

There was a thrill in being reminded of just how much Eames wanted him, to what lengths the man would go to find him.

They didn’t speak, though Arthur hadn’t hung up the phone. He listened to Eames’ breathing, steady and calm through the receiver.

He took the stairs rather than the elevator, knowing Eames would follow the progress with a casual tilt of his head. He bent, deliberately, in a quiet corridor to untie and tie his shoes again, delighting in the sigh that earned through the telephone when he put it to his ear again.

The first class lounges were rarely at capacity, though they were built to house the entire passenger list of the plane. Arthur pulled his wallet from his pocket and tapped the access card against the scanner before finally hanging up. Both the wallet and his phone slipped into the front pockets of his pants.

He tossed his coat to the first couch he came across, empty, as expected. His bag bounced slightly as he deposited it to the next. His steps didn’t waver, his pace didn’t slow, and when he finally rounded the corner to the window-lined bar he couldn’t contain his grin.

Eames reclined in one of the wingback chairs, the only customer. Two laptops sat open on the tiny round table before him, a pint balanced half-finished between them. Arthur let his momentum bring him up close and straddled Eames hard enough to push him back against the seat.

Their kiss wasn’t gentle. It was a greeting. A culmination of wants and needs and missing and affection. By the time Arthur pulled back, nuzzling Eames’ furry stubbled cheek, Eames’ hands were flat and warm against his back.

“Hello, darling.” Arthur breathed, grinning as Eames caught his mouth in a kiss again and welcomed him home.


End file.
